A Thief In The Night
by The Soft Smell of Rain
Summary: Takes place after the bedroom-scene in 3x8 Ordinary People. Elena is waking up in the middle of the night and have some deep thoughts about the vampire sharing her bed. One-shot/drabble.


Hey guys!

Soo, I haven't written in a long while now because of my preparations towards my exams and later a very busy christmas. This short one-shot/drabble is a way for me to get back to my writing, so please dont expect to much of it:) This one-shot just appared in my head one day and I just wrote it down. Not quite sure if it fits my usual style, but at least I have written something, right?:) As for my other stories I will try to update them as soon as possible and I'm also starting a new fic I hopefully will be able to post in a few days.

Okay, this one-shot/drabble take place after the bed-scene in 3x8 Ordinary People,but could also take place some time later in season 3. Elena wakes up in the middle of the night and have some deep thoughts about the vampire sharing her bed.

Reviews are like gold to me so please make me a millionaire:) As I said this isn't my best work so please be truthful but gentle with me:)

Please read, enjoy and review:)

Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Diaries or any of the characters in this story. Only the plot is mine.

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><p>He is beautiful. Of course he is, she has always known. Soft light from a weakly glowing moon is caressing his pale skin, making him look breakable and vulnerable like a sleeping child, yet underlining his manly structure and strength in both body and mind. His midnight hair is softly touching his forehead, messy strands resting on the pillow beneath his head, reminding her in some way of the playful part of his temper. Her eyes linger on his forehead, tiny lines of worry and weariness giving his face a distant touch of his thru age, making it possible for her sensitive senses to read his growing concern for the future. She does not blame him for his concern, how could she when their lives are constantly balancing the sharp edge of a knife. His concern are deeply justified, still she hates the way it is colouring his handsome face. Defeat, exhaustion, quiet surrender to dark thoughts, she sees it every day. In her friends faces, in his face, in her own when she reluctantly meet with herself in the mirror. She hates it, she despises such feelings for violating their innocent minds, giving the poor bearers nothing more than heartache and despair.<p>

Two silent tears softly releases themselves from her sore eyes, travelling the length of her cheek, leaving trails of soothing coolness against her burning skin. Once, her mother had told her that bad thoughts released themselves from your mind in the form of tears, and she finds small traces of peace in imagining her dark thoughts trapped inside each tiny drop of salty water escaping her eyes, leaving her for the time being to gather her strength for their next attack.

Tears continues to softly trail her face as her mind return to the presence, her tired head slowly recovering from the black emotions trying to break her battered defences a moment ago. Her senses slowly shifts to the sleeping form next to her, her eyes finding comfort in the steady fall and rise of his chest. She lets her eyes follow the taut lines of his masculine frame, his strong chest, his muscular arms, her mind silently registering the discreet, but lean built of his body that gives him the strength and grace of one of the finest predators on earth. Giving him the advantage to catch prey with a careless flick of his wrist, and kill without any visible effort .

She studies the hand that is resting on his abdomen, long pale fingers spread, forming a wide trap for any unlucky soul getting caught in its merciless grip. Her slightly trembling hand reaches out with gentle caution, stroking the back of his hand as lightly as a dandelion-fluff caressing the air in its path. There are few that knows how his deathly hand can move with gentleness, caress softer than any gentle lover, bring comfort in the same soft fashion of any thru friend. She knows. She always has.

Eyes, burning lightly from her briefly acquaintance with hopelessness, sweeps upwards, rests once again on his moonlit face. Her emotions turns calmer watching him, her turbulent inner self coming slightly to rest. She knows its absurd, but there are calmness and safety following in his wake and whenever he is near she can feel the gentle pressure of those emotions penetrating her soul and giving her mind the peace she needs to survive another day.

His eyes is comfortably closed in peaceful sleep. She does not need to see them open to know their unique colour or their unnerving depth. Ocean blue a stormy night, deep enough to drown in if you tread incautious. She has always wondered how his eyes, orbs cut out in the colour of ice and coolness, can turn warm like a summer breeze, even scorching like the burning sun itself. She had once heard that eyes were the doors leading into the depth of a persons soul. In the case of Damon she believed it to be thru. Every trace of concern, every desperate hope, every warm feeling of love she was able to read in his powerful stare. Its was frightening how few words were needed when they booth spoke the language of the others soul.

When they do share word, in witty banter or heated discussion, its not always the feature of his glowing eyes that pulls her gaze to his handsome face. His mouth. There is something about his mouth that pulls her in, the twitch of his lips when he is smirking, the tightness when he is angry or concerned, the soft shadow from the luscious curve of his bottom lip colouring his chin in the gentle moonlight sipping in through the window. The occasions to study his features unnoticed is few, and when such a rare moment have been obliged her she lets her eyes rest on the soft curves of his mouth. His lips is slightly parted, a discreet line of shiny white teeth protruding his bottom lip.

She feels a pull, a need, a feeling consisting of so much blended emotion her young brain has not the experience nor knowledge to understand.

Knifes of guilt is violently pricking her skin as she slowly lifts her upper body from the mattress, her face inching closer in breathless anticipation and nagging fear of getting caught in the act of stealing something she was never supposed to crave. Her lips ghosts his, touching lighter than an angels wing touches the air surrounding it. For a few stolen seconds she breathes him in through her mouth, his exhales coating her lips and tongue with his masculine taste, expensive liquor with the pure essence of him around the edges. She steals the comfort from the sweet taste of his breath, the caring from the released air gently caressing her skin, the safety from the warmth that touches her face with his every exhale. She steals almost shamelessly in the cover of the night.

When tomorrow shines through the window of her bedroom she knows she will feel the sting of the liberties she allowed her tired mind in the darkness of the night. Until then she lets the feelings she captured from his unaware lips circulate her body, the warm waves of sweet emotions soothing her tired head with a long awaited feeling of peace. Promising her the gift of another day, another evening, another night. Blessing her with a deep knowledge; she **will** survive.

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><p>Thanks for reading:) Please remember to review:)<p> 


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